


Defiance

by Ingsa



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Angst, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Drama, Dysfunctional Family, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Father-Daughter Relationship, Father/Daughter Incest, Fire Nation (Avatar), Fire Nation Royal Family, Maledom/Femsub, Manipulation, Nipple Piercings, Older Man/Younger Woman, Oral Sex, Parent/Child Incest, Phoenix King Ozai, Phoenix Queen Azula, Piercings, Unreliable Narrator
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-23
Updated: 2020-12-23
Packaged: 2021-03-09 21:47:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,346
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27683089
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ingsa/pseuds/Ingsa
Summary: Ruling only in her father's stead is simply not enough for Azula.
Relationships: Azula/Ozai (Avatar)
Comments: 9
Kudos: 35





	1. Defiance

Azula restlessly paced the floor of her opulent bed-chamber, back and forth, back and forth, the hem of her crimson robe billowing out behind her with each sharp turn she made, spinning gracefully on the balls of her bare feet.

Ozai was set to depart with his fleet by sunset, and the Firelord-to-be had requested an audience with her father before his departure. Azula would have - _should_ have - gotten to work on this request sooner had he not, less than an hour prior, abruptly informed her of his intentions for her to remain within the walls of the Fire Nation. 

She strode to her balcony for a brief respite from the pacing. The blazing orb of the setting sun cast a brilliant red mien over the Fire Nation’s endless flying eaves. What was that saying her old fool of an uncle always loved to spout? _Red sky at night, sailor’s delight. Red sky at morning, sailors take warning._

And the sky was undoubtedly red this evening, almost unnaturally so. At least she could afford to take some comfort in that, presently. She couldn’t let an issue of this magnitude wait any longer... if she wanted to clinch her chance of becoming Phoenix Queen, the time to act was _now_.

She steeled her breath as the chamber doors flew open. 

︵‿︵‿୨୧‿︵‿︵

“I don’t see why you can’t leave it to me, Father.”

Azula had only a moment to register the look of abject fury in her father’s glowing, livid eyes before he cruelly slapped her across the face, her head whipping to the side with the vicious impact. 

In the next instant, he savagely grabbed her by the collar of her robe and yanked her up against him, forcing the girl to stand involuntarily on her tiptoes. Azula maintained a veneer of innocence, doefully peering up at Ozai’s stern visage, barely able to conceal her licentious delight at having provoked his ferocious ire at last. 

“It is precisely because of your _failure_ , girl, that I have taken it upon myself to lead this mission,” Ozai fumed, reigning in his urge to slap her again. “ _Alone.”_

“Failure?” the princess replied, aghast, an appropriate look of disbelief in her wide, golden eyes even as her own rage simmered just beneath the surface of her carefully composed, incredulous visage. 

“You don’t believe that nonsense from Zuzu of all people, do you? You… you couldn’t _possibly._ Do you really think I’d let you down like that?” 

Azula stopped herself before the floodgates burst open, demurring as she momentarily cast her eyes downward, focusing on the radiant golden whorls of Ozai’s elaborate chest plate. 

“I would never," she went on softly. "I wish only to _please_ you, to make you _proud_.” She raised her eyes earnestly to his. Ozai’s stern visage had tempered just a fraction, though his firm lips remained set in a tight line. He slowly lowered her to the floor. 

“You realize all it is, is a tactic… a ludicrously _weak-minded one,_ at that,” she emphasized quietly, venomously. “Surely you would be the last soul on this Earth to be taken in by such a filthy _lie_.”

Ozai sighed, embittered, as he released his grip on Azula’s collar and slid his hands down to her upper arms. He cocked his head and arched a sharp brow as he carefully regarded her. A splotch of pink bearing the imprint of his hand now marred her elegant heart-shaped face, but the girl didn’t appear to be bothered by it at all. The avid concern in her eyes was singularly focused on him.  
  


“I didn’t mean to implicate you in this, my daughter. It seems you’re the only one with whom I can fully entrust myself,” Ozai slowly allowed himself to admit. “In fact, at times, I can’t shake the feeling that I’m being surrounded by an ever-increasing swarm of rat-vipers.”

“It’s alright, Father,” she assuaged empathetically. “I _do_ understand your feelings, completely... let me at least come with you,” she urged. “I am far from ungrateful for the honor you have bestowed upon me… but there is simply nothing of consequence for me to do here in your absence. I’d be so much more useful to you by your side. I-” 

Azula swallowed abruptly; the words were becoming harder to form now. Not because of nervousness - a useless trait that she would _never_ adopt - but because of the forthcoming revelation. She had become so accustomed to spinning her pretty little poison-laced lies that the truth - _this_ truth, in particular - had become a labor to speak. 

“I’m not certain how I’d manage without you here… I don’t know how long you’ll be gone, and I need someone to… to…”

Ozai carefully turned her around in his arms, gently pressing her back against him. His hands, however, remained tightly clamped on her upper arms like twin shackles.

“You need someone to take care of you. Is that it, Azula?” he queried lowly, as he began to soothingly stroke his fingers up and down.

Azula sighed and leaned further back into his embrace, her gown slipping down her shoulders a bit. “Yes,” she admitted. “But I wouldn’t entrust myself to just _anyone,_ father. No one but _you_ can.”

His thumbs ghosted over her exposed shoulders and she barely suppressed a shiver. Agni, she didn’t think this would feel so wonderfully cathartic. A part of herself… a hidden chrysalis, red and glowing and wanting, that she had long kept cocooned… had at last begun to emerge. 

Ozai momentarily ceased in his movements, his hands becoming still as she involuntarily swayed back and forth against his solid form. 

_“Azula.”_

Azula froze in her reverie, her eyes snapping open. In that sole utterance of her name, his voice had lowered several shades deeper. It was rougher, guttural, and carried with it such an unmistakable air of raw sensuality that arousal instantly pooled deep in her belly. It mirrored exactly how she’d felt that fateful day, ages ago, sitting in the front row next to Iroh at the outset of Ozai and Zuko’s magnificent Agni Kai. Poor Uncle just couldn’t bear to look, but eleven-year-old Azula couldn’t bear to look away. The promise of an inferno, furious and primitive and raw, had kept her keen, hungry eyes fastened to her father... with the ensuing explosion of his wrathful fire holding her in a glorious trance. 

“You shall not find me ungrateful,” Azula promised, a distinctly sultry edge to her voice now. She turned her head and looked up at him over her bare shoulder, a faint shiver of fear brushing across her spine as she did so. Ozai’s expression had changed, her father now gazing down upon her in feral, intrigued possession. 

“You’re enjoying this,” he remarked, almost disbelievingly, unable to keep his eyes from roving over her exposed décolletage.

Instead of turning away, Azula kept her gaze trained on him as she reached up, brazenly shrugged the shoulders of her robe lower still, and leaned her head back against his warm, solid chest, inwardly reveling in his scent. Spice and smoke blended together with his own unique body chemistry, lulling her into a blissful haze. She found herself drawn into his lustily smoldering ember orbs, so taken she couldn’t look away.

Without preamble, Azula found herself immediately immersed in her father’s burning essence as he swept her smaller form up into a harsh, demanding kiss. There was no room for her to maneuver, leaving her no choice but to take whatever he granted her. His tongue parted her lips, thrust inside her mouth and retracted quickly. It felt... vulgar. She wanted him to do it again. Nothing felt at all unnatural, but the sheer, depraved sin of the entire lascivious act between father and daughter made her lean harder into him, and she dared to thread her hands into his obsidian hair, dainty fingers clenching onto the thick, silken tresses.

Ozai _moaned_. It was music to her ears. She’d never in her life heard him make such an exquisite sound. She pulled harder and he growled in turn, plunging his tongue into her mouth, practically choking her on it as he dug his large hands into the soft swell of her buttocks. 

As swiftly as it had begun, the kiss ended abruptly and father and daughter parted, twin amber pools melding into each other as each sought to catch their breath.

“ _Temptress,_ ” he finally uttered as if it were a curse, pulling back with an unconvincing shake of his head. The pink crests of her nipples were now starkly visible over the collar of her robe.

Azula chuckled indulgently. “Oh, come now, dear Father. You _need_ me,” she said, stepping forward and closing the scant gap once again, “…just as much as _I_ need you.”A note of fervor had crept into her voice; she certainly didn’t have to fake that. 

She traced a petite hand up over his chest and curled her fingers behind his neck, urging him closer as she tilted her head up to his. “My desire to bathe the world in fire burns just as brightly as yours. It _always_ has… and we will emerge from the ashes,” she whispered, her petal-like lips mere centimeters from his, appearing to him like a flower starved for the sun. “Together, and _unbroken_.”

Ozai’s resolve shattered once again on the heels of that whispered promise, and he pulled her into another kiss, grasping her slender leg and exposing the creamy expanse of her thigh as he indecently hiked it up around his sturdy waist. Azula’s petite form fit him like a glove, and she curled into him willingly, their lips briefly parting only to steal a breath or change the angle of their heads. She felt dizzy beneath his attack and desperately clutched at his thick wrists, holding onto them as though she were sinking in quicksand.

The expansive chamber dimmed with approaching night as their fervent pace increased, their tongues furiously entwining in sinewy caresses. The budding need between her legs had grown to a scream, and as if he sensed it, Ozai’s hand traveled to her lower back and firmly pushed down - she followed his lead, straddling the muscled ridge of his thigh, pressing her bare folds onto him. She gasped at the contact, finally, and her hips moved with a mind of their own. She let out a small cry as Ozai drew up his knee and relentlessly ground it against her exposed wetness. The rough scrape of his beard had begun to burn her chin, but Azula only kissed him harder, the realization that he would soon be leaving sinking in for the both of them. Her synapses fluttered and she unabashedly rode his muscular thigh as she brought herself over the edge of completeness, eyes squeezed tight as the world beyond them melted away.

“We will arise together,” he promised before they parted for the last time that night, affirming her earlier declaration as he took in his daughter, the vision of her wildly beautiful disarray burning into his mind’s eye.

“Unbent, unbroken, and reborn… my _Queen_.”


	2. Deference

Ensconced within the blazing twin walls of blue fire, Azula reclined on her throne as she sipped bittersweet, black cherry wine from a gilded chalice. She held out her free hand and languidly examined her painted golden nails, newly fashioned into talon-like points. Seemingly impractical in theory, but she swore they improved her lightning-bending. Of course, she’d never outright conceded that her abilities needed any sort of refinement in the first place, but there it was. 

Her throne room was virtually the only place she could count on for solace following the weeks of Ozai’s absence — the sole sanctuary where she felt purely in control of all aspects of her life. The instant her father left, seemingly no one around her was fit to be trusted. Azula had replaced nearly everyone closest to her; new crops of handmaids, servants, palace security. But she would never admit to being paranoid. No, this was a necessary purging, of all that was untrustworthy, of all that carried reminders of the past, of _betrayal._

She hadn’t had much, if any, human interaction at all… but, in a way, she loved the isolation. Reveled in it, in fact. As the days bled into weeks, the only thoughts that occupied her mind day in and day out concerned her father’s impending return. And he _would_ return imminently. She had a sixth sense, she firmly believed… she’d felt it the same day her mother disappeared.

Despite the relatively placid bliss of her isolation, Azula had, in truth, felt desolately numb after Ozai’s departure. She sensed it most vividly in the deep hours of the night, restlessly twisted in her silken sheets, a thin coat of perspiration casting a sheen over her pale skin. He had left her alone to languish in this palace, an empty, wanting void, inflamed with a hollow inside of her that longed to be filled.

︵‿︵‿୨୧‿︵‿︵

“I do not wish to be disturbed!” she shouted irritatedly as the throne room doors burst open with a resounding clang. She retained her sideways position on the throne, head thrown back and eyes blissfully closed.

“Daughter, what have you done?”

The breath stole from Azula’s lungs at her father’s voice, echoing toward her in resonant waves across the room. 

She agilely leaped up from the cushioned dais, but her shoulders went slack the moment her eyes alighted upon Ozai’s approaching form, resplendent in his battle regalia, onyx hair billowing out behind him in tandem with his brisk strides. Excitement flooded her, but along with it came a healthy dose of fearful respect. Spirits have mercy on her. He didn’t pause when he approached her fiery wall — with a blaze of red, he effortlessly parted the blue inferno and ascended the dais, pausing in his strides only when he was mere inches from her. 

Ozai was silent for a moment as he appraised his daughter, now blinking rapidly at him as though she couldn’t believe he was real. Instead of piled atop her head in its customary bun, Azula’s hair was a wild, sable curtain flowing down across her back. Her satin gown was loosely belted around her slim hips, and an utterly indecent amount of cleavage was exposed. The girl had obviously neglected to wear her bindings; her peaked nipples were prominently visible beneath the fine material. How strikingly he was reminded of the sight of her that night in her chambers. Most curiously, her delicate ears were now adorned with a network of tiny gold hoops and ruby studs. _Agni,_ there was such a deliciously enticing edge to her appearance now. Something wanton, something almost _feral_. If she weren’t his daughter, he very well might have taken her right there and fucked her on the steps of the dais like a brothel whore.

Ozai’s expression was inscrutable to Azula as he stood before her, looming so she had to tilt her head back, even lean a little, just to see his face. As she locked eyes with him, her confidence and irritation melted, swift as lightning striking a snowy field. She suddenly felt very small. Was he angry with her? Azula flinched slightly as Ozai raised his hand, but he only stroked a calloused finger down her cheek, tracing along her smooth jawline. She stared at his hand, transfixed, then into his eyes, almost pleadingly. Did he have the faintest idea how much she had hungered for him in his absence?

“Where are your guards, Azula?” Ozai demanded, putting aside her appearance for a moment in an attempt to quell his own ill-timed desires. “Where are the Dai Li?” 

Azula scoffed. “I deemed them unsuitable to serve me. Naturally, they’ve been banished.”

“So you’d have fared better with no guards at all?” Ozai shook his head. “I am sorely disappointed in your logic, daughter. I thought you were better than that.” 

“My logic was perfectly sound!” Azula insisted, affronted and a trifle unsettled by his dismayed tone. “Their absence, however short, left the opportunity wide open for an assassin to eliminate me. They’d never have done such harm to you,” she remarked bitterly.

“And they never would to you. Fortunately for you, my dear, the Dai Li never left.”

“ _What?_ ” Azula seethed. “They’re still _here?_ Those incompetent —”

“ _Silence_ , Azula,” Ozai ordered harshly. “I will not stand for this foolishness. No respectable Firelord ever would. Yes, the Dai Li were still under my command when I left, and I _forbade_ them to leave their posts.”

She’d been secretly defied all this time, her commands dishonored because of her father? Had this all been an elaborate charade, leaving her in control of truly nothing at all?

Ozai gave a long-suffering sigh and reached for her discarded chalice, taking a copious swing of the remaining liquid. “I never should have ignored the signs,” he muttered lowly under his breath, absentmindedly rotating the glass around in his hand.

“What signs?” Azula demanded.

The cup landed with a dull shatter as Ozai carelessly tossed it aside. “I should have taken you with me,” he murmured, ignoring her question as he took her into his arms. She inhaled his familiar scent and nearly sobbed as he tenderly — almost lovingly, she could have believed — stroked down her back. “I never fathomed how much my absence… had affected you.” 

“It did, Daddy,” Azula admitted on a breathy sigh. He was no longer “Father” to her in this moment, as she nuzzled her head against his broad chest, just as she did countless times as a child, running into his study and leaping into his lap in fits of frustration when she didn’t get her way about something or another. He’d soothe her just as he did now, unwaveringly promising her the world.

“We will, of course, need to remedy this… among other things.”

Azula’s eyes snapped open, his words wresting her from the little bubble of comfort induced by his embrace. The rapid brush of her eyelashes tickled across his neck. 

“What other things?” she queried, her voice meek and muffled against his chest. 

He lowered his face so that his lips brushed across the shell of her ear. “Your impertinence. Your carelessness,” he chastised in a deathly calm whisper. The contact of his lips, combined with the fear elicited by his words, resulted in a confusing stimulation of her sensitive, already on-edge nerves. 

“You made one _senseless_ decision after another, and you could have thrown the _entire Kingdom_ into disaster right along with you.” 

Azula all but wilted in place at her father’s quietly seething rage. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been shamed, but doubted she ever felt as rightly humiliated as this. She raised her head and looked up at him earnestly. “I wasn’t — ” 

“I didn’t grant you this position for naught, Azula,” Ozai interrupted. “This was a test of your abilities and of your character. You, in turn, have gravely disappointed me.”

This could very well have been her only chance at redemption, and Azula desperately pounced upon it like a spider-cat. “You should have seen the Dai Li, Father. The _audacity._ Leaving me in such a vulnerable position was an unforgivable act of treason! Banishing them was the highest generosity I could have afforded them. They should have been on their knees, thanking me!”

“You were _bad._ ” Ozai growled the last word, and despite her fear, it sent a thrill through her, straight down between her legs. How did he manage to have such an effect on her? Who was he, to call her “bad”? Yet, in some strange way, spirits-knew-why, it felt _right._

“I was bad,” Azula whispered, eyes locked onto his. 

“Do you truly realize how insolently you’ve behaved? How _wayward_ you’ve become?” He reached out and boldly traced the curving slope of her pert rear. His touch, and the tone of his voice - part threatening, part teasing - made her heart race, fluttering inside the cage of her chest like a trapped bird. His face was so close. His amber eyes bore intensely into her as if seeking something inside of her, something even she couldn’t see. 

“I can be good,” she said, squirming beneath his gaze, clamping her legs tight against the moisture gathering there.

He took a loose lock of her hair between two fingers and twirled it around, as if testing it. She imagined those hands elsewhere on her, how warm and encompassing they would be, and her mouth went dry. She licked her lips, and he smirked. 

“No,” Ozai said decisively and released her hair, letting it fall to her shoulder. “I don’t believe you. Girls as _troublesome_ as you can only learn from punishment.” 

Punishment? What sort of punishment was he talking about? 

“I know you well, Azula, perhaps even better than you know yourself. This is not at _all_ like you… and, most puzzlingly,” he continued before Azula had a chance to counter him, “Neither is this.” He gently ran a finger over her intricate piercings. “Who did this to you?” he inquired, intrigued.

“Mai.”

Ozai cocked a brow. Azula had been just as surprised to learn that Mai was, in fact, an exceptionally skillful piercer. Her former friend had revealed her own self-administered navel piercing to Azula when they were both girls of thirteen. Azula had taken one look and immediately demanded her friend do the same for her. It had seemed such a thrillingly rebellious act… and with the melancholic numbness invoked by her father’s departure, who better to turn to for her unorthodox requests? As it turned out, Mai was useful for something other than sulking, even while bound within her chains.

“I must say, they suit you perfectly,” Ozai remarked approvingly. “They give you a certain… edge. What, pray tell, induced you to do such a thing?”

_To prove to myself I could still_ feel, _in spite of you._

“I suppose I just became… restless in your absence, and I simply wanted to… experiment.”

“I cannot imagine many noble ladies daring enough to attempt such an act. How did it feel?”

_Absolutely, marvelously, fucking exquisite._

“A bit painful... nothing too unbearable.”

“I see.” Ozai’s penetrating stare raked down across her body as if he could see straight through the thin silken material, then back up.

“Have you been pierced elsewhere?”

The invasive question caught Azula off-guard, and she wasn’t able to suppress the furious blush that cut across her cheeks. Ozai didn’t miss it.

“Take off your clothes,” he ordered at once.

A hard lump formed in Azula’s throat. She opened her mouth to reply — she would rather have gone through with this within more intimate confines of her bed-chamber — but a single look from Ozai compelled the words to die in her throat. The stormy glare he fixed upon her solidified his command as a pitch-black ultimatum. Any notions about the impropriety of her own father asking her to strip naked in her own throne room, her sole place of power, flew right from her consciousness.

With faintly trembling fingers, Azula undid the belt as he observed attentively, his expression darkening ever further as she let the garment fall in a crimson pool at her feet. She stood before him, naked as the day she was birthed, save for the jeweled piercings that adorned her navel and crested her nipples, petite but already hardening into little pearls under Ozai’s insatiable scrutiny. 

“Oh, my dear Azula. What to do with you, indeed,” Ozai chuckled. “Hm. Prison, I think…” Azula stiffened.

“Would, naturally, be much too harsh of a penalty. A senseless waste of such a brilliantly invaluable prodigy — one of my own blood, at that. Yes, you should have been with me,” he affirmed. “And you will be, now… at _all_ times.”

“What do you mean, Father?” Azula replied, confused. 

“Of course, it wouldn’t be possible under normal conditions, by any means,” Ozai further contemplated, more to himself than to her. “But this situation presents quite an unusual circumstance… one befitting unusual measures.”

“What did you have in mind?” It came out like a squeak, and Azula quickly averted her eyes in embarrassment. That sort of question suggested acquiescence. A dark smile played upon his lips, touching just the corners of his mouth. She looked up at him, then, cold realization winding through her body. Then the ice split, making way for fierce warmth to roil up her blood.

In an instant, he grasped her by the arms and roughly propelled her backward until the backs of her knees hit the dais, forcing her to sit. He leaned over her, planting his hands on either side of her body. She felt crowded, trapped. Helpless. His hair fell around them, enshrouding her in an ebony curtain. The huge man was frightening, but not in a way that made her want to run for her life. He traced her mouth with his finger, his eyes following the line of her full lips. The expectations of what he was going to do nipped at her brain like a pack of wild dogs and held her steadfastly to the seat, staring up at him in wide-eyed anticipation.

Ozai knelt before her, to her surprise, and she gasped as his lips, soft but firm, teasingly explored her flesh. She felt terribly exposed, shuddering at his touch, her insides quivering as he pressed her breasts together with his large hands, drawing his tongue all over. Her lithe form twitched as his mouth covered each taut, bejeweled nipple in turn and sucked, _hard_. He licked up her throat and over her chin, and when his tongue touched her plush lips, her mouth fell open, letting his tongue entangle with hers. He tasted of wine, spices, and ambrosial smoke. His lips tugged at hers, and she moaned at the sudden sting as he dragged her lower lip between his teeth.

“Please —” Azula’s words met his mouth as he tried to all but devour her, and she felt him smile against her. Her sex had become so swollen and slick, throbbing between her thighs, and she squirmed, shamelessly rocking her hips in a futile effort to achieve even the faintest release. His tongue left scorching trails of wetness back over her breasts and down her flat belly, and she twisted, whimpering as he dipped his tongue into her sensitive navel. He rose up slightly, and she thought at last he would take her, but instead he unceremoniously pushed her knees apart with his hands and plunged his face between her legs.

Azula lifted from the cushion, clenching involuntarily as an unearthly feeling came over her. He made a hungry sound, and Azula felt a momentary pang of fear that was quelled by a gasp as his tongue, wet and broad, touched her slit and slowly swept up over her mound. She groaned, arching against his touch as desperate little cries spilled forth from her throat. She reveled shamelessly in the sweet sensations that flashed through her, igniting an incandescent heat between her thighs.

Jolts of white-hot pleasure shot throughout her body, fire made out of ice. She panted hard as she managed to relax a fraction, only for the sensation to retake her, rolling through her like a tempestuous wave. She drew up, clutching one of the colonnades as she attempted to curl away from him, but Ozai only lifted her leg and yanked her forward again, relentlessly, forcefully pleasuring her. His tongue probed her folds left and right, responding to her moans of delight as she grabbed her nipples and rubbed their slippery peaks with needy fingertips. The pleasure rose, and rose so quickly she could no longer stand it. Ozai licked and laved her while she grunted and bucked beneath his attention, but it wasn’t enough. He was purposely hesitating, leaving her trembling just on the precipice of ecstatic release.

“Daddy, _please,_ I need… I…” Azula felt her orgasm on the brink, like waves washing to shore again and again, but not quite reaching their destination. It scrambled any coherency from her thoughts. She reached for Ozai’s head, grasping his sleek hair in both hands and desperately _pulled,_ feeling his tongue pushing harder against her virgin cunt. She spread her legs ever wider, readying herself. 

Her lust was a feral, unsatisfied thing that compelled her to arch her back again, panting as his wicked tongue lashed against her maidenhood, almost painfully now as her clit throbbed against the squeezing pressure beneath it. His teeth scraped against a hidden pearl of flesh and her lust and pain mixed together to reach intoxicating peaks. She crested to a place she’d never been before, sending frenzied spasms of pleasure from her throbbing quim to every inch of skin beyond. She _screamed,_ the reverberations bouncing off of the high ceilings as her vision went white from her unearthly climax, shattering into a myriad explosion of bursting stars and feverish colors. Toes curled and fists clenched, she furiously ground her hips against his face, wishing for the throbbing waves of pure, depraved euphoria to never cease.

Slowly, she sagged helplessly into the feathery cushion, now thoroughly damp from her passion. She felt wonderful, but not fulfilled. 

“More,” she entreated softly. She reached out, and Ozai paused for a moment, letting her appreciatively stroke his length through his pants, the hard outline growing in prominence as she gently traced it. She shivered as she imagined it spreading her apart, taking her from girlhood to womanhood in a single, forceful stroke.

“Enough,” Ozai admonished, firmly brushing her hand away before his control could snap completely. His little minx was insatiable… or so she thought. No, he wouldn’t have her lying in repose in a sex coma for spirits-knew-how-long when she should already be in the company of her handmaids, deep in preparation for the evening’s welcoming ceremony.

“What are you going to do?” Azula queried hesitantly, after silently collecting her breath and her wits.

“All in due time.”

Azula knit her brows and drew her knees up, not a bit assuaged by his reply. Was he going to leave her hanging in suspension and trepidation for as long as he pleased? And what of her promised coronation?

Her conflicted thoughts played out across her face, one by one, and Ozai read them plainly. The cogs in that mind of hers were ever-turning… and, at the same time, he found her naive uncertainty quite charming. He had played with his previous mistresses — like porcelain vases, they were so prettily painted but just as vapid and empty — to satisfy only a passing hunger. His little princess, soon to be his queen, was meant to be savored, an indulgence for a deeper lust.

“There now, my dear. Don’t worry that pretty head of yours.” His fingers moved down her cheek, tilting her chin up. “My promise still holds true. But we must deal with matters of consequence after the reception… and before the coronation. As irresistible as you are, I won’t let your impertinence go unpunished.” His tone brooked no room for argument. 

She didn’t know whether she should be relieved that her punishment was delayed or angry that her father was putting such a seemingly trivial matter at the forefront. “I understand,” she said, averting her eyes to the side, hardly able to keep the resentment from her voice. _No,_ she decided, this was nothing to be happy about. Was he doing this on purpose, only to toy with her? He’d left her torn, nearly senseless with lust. In part, she hated herself for going along with what he bade without fighting it anymore.

Slowly, as if possessed by a will not entirely of her own, Azula rose from the dais and descended to her knees before Ozai’s towering form, tentatively raising her eyes to his. His high cheekbones and the stark planes of his almost cruelly handsome face were cast in ruthless lines by the flickering cerulean flames.

_You always wanted a worthy man to take your virginity. You wanted a conqueror’s hand, not a lover’s soft caress._ _Save face for the ceremony. Make everything appear perfectly intact for the good of the Kingdom._

She gracefully arched her back as she lowered her head to the floor, fully yielding to him in capitulation. 

_We’re all we have left, after all._

She felt Ozai’s heavy hand on the top of her head and she looked up into his eyes, seeming to glow in the dimness of the room. Something passed between them. She didn’t understand it, but she felt it — a hot, trilling current singing in her chest, radiating outward into her entire being.


	3. Liminality

The Firelord lounged idly in her bath as handmaids carefully poured fragrant oils and dropped petals of lavender and rose into the steaming, milky water. Chyou, one of her ladies-in-waiting, had assured her that adding milk to the bathwater would ease any tension. The middle-aged woman, who had once attended to Lady Ursa herself, was one of only a few servants who were spared banishment. Azula had begun to ponder lately if it was a mistake to keep her on — spirits knew how much Ursa had confided in her loyal servant or how much of her mother’s sentiments she shared, especially when it came to her _monstrous_ daughter. Azula couldn’t pinpoint precisely what tethered her to Chyou, but the woman had something of a grounding presence about her. It wasn’t an entirely unwelcome contrast to the surreal liminality of her situation; a princess trapped in a fog of doubt, suspended in limbo somewhere between Firelord and Phoenix Queen.

_You dare to imply I require treatment for something that doesn’t even afflict me?_ Azula had bitingly retorted to the servant upon her suggestion.

Chyou had only looked upon her gently, a knowing, mournful light lingering far back in her grey eyes. 

_I see nothing but resilience in you, Your Grace,_ she had sincerely replied. _It shines with the light of a thousand suns, with the eternal light of Agni himself. I wish only for it to remain so._

Opting not to further dissect the cryptically veiled words, the Firelord had begrudgingly complied. 

A gentle evening breeze carried the din from the royal courtyard upward, so Azula could faintly hear the excited commotion drifting through the bath chamber’s open window. She wasn’t at all eager to join in the revelry and would have been perfectly content to remain submerged in the ofuro for the next day or so; it would be a welcome distraction from whatever in Koh’s name was bound to await her at her father’s hands. She gazed down at her reflection, a murky shadow wavering in the opaque water, absentmindedly twirling a rose petal over and over in her hand. She was in a quandary, she realized, standing before a chasm between two immovable mountains; the only way to cross through was forward, headlong into the abyss. Azula frowned, reached for her goblet on the small side table, and threw back the last sip of plum wine. The consumption she imbibed in thus far couldn’t lead her anywhere good, but how could it lead her anywhere worse than the path on which she was already headed?

Cheers echoed from the courtyard once more, and her eyes flicked to the window. Golden, phoenix-emblazoned banners were being raised in rapid succession. Her eyes alighted on the sharp, curved talons. She envisaged spade-like claws tearing into her and a deluge of blood spilling out, black, black as her darkest secrets as she was rent to pieces.

“Would you care for more wine, Your Grace?” The timid voice of a handmaid roused her from her ruminations. 

Golden eyes narrowed at the girl nervously clutching a gourd, then down at the empty chalice in her own hand. She didn’t want to do anything foolish; she was certainly in enough trouble already, if her father’s stormy attitude was any indication. But the more she drank, the more the tension had seeped from her taut muscles, the trepidation slowly lixiviating from her conscience.

Azula smiled then, saccharine-sweet as she held out her cup. “Make yourself useful, why don’t you.”

︵‿︵‿୨୧‿︵‿︵

Azula peered at her reflection in the vanity mirror with discerning eyes as her maidservants scrupulously attended to her. She had demanded a bold look — soft and feminine wouldn’t do at all, at least for tonight. A triad of thick braids was intricately twisted atop her head and secured into place with spiked, tasseled kanzashi pins, leaving the bottom half of her hair to flow freely down her back. Deep crimson shadowed her eyes in place of black kohl. Dark coral stained her lips, reflecting the shade of the rare fire lilies now blooming in the palace gardens.

She silently dared Mother to make an appearance in the looking glass once again. It would be a joy this day to relive the utmost satisfaction of shattering her entire visage with a singular bolt from her fingertip. No need to risk damaging a perfectly fine hairbrush this time.

She loathed the cowardice of relying on makeup to conceal mere discomfiture. Azula had long prided herself on her natural mask of cool indifference, a weapon she valued and wielded as strongly as her flames. Nonetheless, Ozai had elicited a tremor — a small one, but still strong enough to shift that treasured mask ever so slightly. There was something markedly different about the newly-returned King, a darkness in his brute strength and the unrelenting onslaught of terrible, wonderful, sensations he elicited _—_ the way he had descended upon her as though possessed by _Vaatu —_ it was as if he wanted to pierce the deepest parts of her soul, unceasing until he consumed her entire essence.

︵‿︵‿୨୧‿︵‿︵

The Firelord remained dutifully silent throughout Lo and Li’s grandiose welcoming speech as she and Ozai stood on either side of the courtyard balcony, looking down upon their enthralled, infinitesimal subjects. It was a minor relief to finally get some fresh air, and she breathed in, the crisp, late-summer breeze sharpening her senses.

She stole a glance to her left where the Phoenix King was stood, hands splayed on the balcony as his imperious gaze raked over the audience, firm and unyielding, a silent challenge to anyone who dared question his authority. The sharp points of his winged crown gleamed ominously in the dying rays of the evening sun. If he had relished his influence as Firelord, he was now undoubtedly drunk on the new magnitude of power he wielded. In spite of herself, she shivered.

It wasn’t as if Azula was unused to her father’s intense nature. Ozai had been avidly focused on his little prodigy with an uncompromising eye all throughout her life, a deeply invested and very much instrumental agent in her progress. Her mother, on the other hand, reacted only with increasing trepidation. She became an elusive shadow to her daughter, apprehensive and fragile as she witnessed her making leaps and bounds in mastering her unique element, in turn drawing ever-closer to Zuko.

A bitter memory, distant yet vivid, flickered in her mind. In the midst of one of her nocturnal excursions through the palace, she became privy to one of her parents’ frequent quarrels, audible even through the thick wood of the bedchamber door.

_“She has you wrapped around her little finger. You cannot simply give her everything she wants on a whim! That sort of treatment will go straight to her head and she’ll end up with an ego as absurdly overblown as yours.”_

A slap rang out sharply, followed by a muted cry. 

_“Bold words, coming from a proud whore like you. Our daughter has earned everything that has been granted her. The boy, on the other hand—"_

_“Call him that again, and you’ll see that my bite is worse than you think.”_

A derisive scoff.

“ _Azula has consistently proven her worth. Yet you show nothing but resentment towards her, choosing to nurture failure instead. If it’s up to me to compensate for the gaps left unfulfilled by you, to drive her to the greatness she is destined for, then so be it.”_

_“You are breaking her,”_ Ursa said quietly, mournful distress in her voice. “ _I’ve always tried to raise her with a fair hand, but I fear now that it’s always been futile. Every act she commits, for good or for wicked, is encouraged by you. She is doing your bidding, and she doesn’t even realize it.”_

How those vile words had made her hate Ursa even more. The insinuation that she had no free will of her own, as if she were some malleable, spineless weakling. The girl’s _chi_ positively burned, so fiercely that errant blue sparks flew from her petite clenched fists. How she wanted to burst into that room and prove how horribly wrong Mother was, how Ozai was the sole reason she had found her light and come into her own. Her father had never been _doting,_ in an overly affectionate way at least — but it had thrilled her beyond measure, made her heart soar whenever he noticed her flourishing prowess; gifting her with a trinket here, a chance to sit in on War Council meetings there, a gilded dagger with a fire-agate handle (given to her when she lamented the unfairness of it all when Zuzu of all people received Iroh’s prized memento).

Yet now, after the scene in the throne room, he was fixated on his precious little prodigy for seemingly all the wrong reasons. No praise was to be found in his words, save for her lineage. What purpose did being the blood of his blood serve other than to spare her from imprisonment? It certainly didn’t spare her brother from... Azula’s heart sank, leaden, as one hideous means of reprisal flashed through her mind. 

_An Agni Kai._

How foolish she was to overlook the possibility. Surely he wouldn’t, though… he wouldn’t mar his perfect daughter, make an absolute disgrace out of her as he did Zuzu. Never had she intentionally defied him — in any _overt_ manner, at least. She was exceptionally practiced in the art of deceit, amusedly pitting people against each other like tiles on a Pai Sho board — but playing deception with Ozai was walking along a sword’s edge. She couldn’t let on to him that she was afraid of anything he might inflict upon her, for it would only attract more unwanted suspicion.

She caught a flash of emerald out of the corner of her eye, and her gaze flicked to the eastern balcony. Behind one of the columns, she espied forest green robes and the silhouette of a pointed _Guanmao_ hat. One mystery unraveled, at least — the Dai Li remained after all, faithfully heeding Ozai’s command.

Had she not been so wrapped up in herself, she might have noticed their presence far earlier. The idea that they had kept themselves so cleverly concealed and remained so all this time, following her spirits-knew-where, like allegiant shadows, unsettled her. Annoyance spiked through her at her lack of vigilance, but a notion then came to her. Perhaps they had only heeded her father’s orders solely because it concerned _her_ — and weren’t truly as faithful to the Phoenix King as they were their Firelord. It was somewhat of a comfort, and Azula allowed herself a shadow of a smile. If her sentiments were correct, she supposed it wouldn’t hurt to have the elite guard within close reach.

She held her regal head high to the horizon and concentrated on the smattering of red embers as if to draw strength from them and dispel the stubborn dregs of anxiety swirling through her. Just as Ozai was assuredly doing at this moment, as his slaying of the Avatar was resoundingly proclaimed, Azula likewise would have basked in the glory of their words, at her own victory against her disgraced brother and the water-savage.

The ensuing ovation, resounding and triumphal, rang hollow in her ears.


End file.
